


The Albatross

by Professional_Creeper



Category: Frankenstein & Related Fandoms, Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
Genre: Angel Wings, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mad Science, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, violence isn't all that graphic but the warning is there in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 12:43:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21179630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Professional_Creeper/pseuds/Professional_Creeper
Summary: Suggestion from Tumblr: "Reader is a monster too—sort of. A construct with crooked, clumsy, slightly mangled wings, and who is quite ashamed of it. It's not hard to basically buy an orphan; reader was the unlucky charge of an equally unfortunate scientist, and the creature is amazed to meet an Angel, man-made or not."





	The Albatross

Dogs bark viciously behind you. Not far behind now, and getting closer. _Run faster!_ you tell yourself, but your feet are already carrying you through the woods as fast as they can go.

You don’t know where you’re going, you just have to get away.

“Ouch!” you cry out. A cloud of feathers and blood erupts as one of your wings snags on a branch, tearing the already mangled thing even further. “Damn it! You’re always in the way! If only you could actually fly…” You come to a clearing and hoping, praying, you spread them wide and give a wishful flap. Nothing.

You curse again, but it’s not like you expected it to work. You weren’t built like a bird, with a lightweight frame and powerful chest muscles for flapping. You were just a clumsy human with lopsided wings surgically attached when you were a child, by _him._

You remember how excited you were the day when that wealthy, smiling man came to the orphanage to adopt you and nine others. But it was a cold, empty smile, you learned.

He was obsessed with breaking the boundaries between species to advance the human race—to create the “perfect” being. Toward that end, he did horrible things to you and your siblings. You watched each of them die, one by one, under his experimentation. You were the only one who survived.

But you weren’t the lucky one.

You were the one who had to live with what he had done to you. He turned you into a freak to be paraded around for science. You could never live a normal life, now. You were the one suffered for years with the aching of bird flesh and bone fusing with your own, not being able to sleep on your back, of constantly bumping and breaking the unruly wings. You were the one who fought, and clawed, and screamed trying to escape every day, and every day you failed and were punished until he broke your spirit.

At least, you let him believe he had.

When you realized there was no way to overpower him directly, you pretended to give up. It wasn’t hard to play the role: part of you _had_ given up. You didn’t know if you would ever be free, and even if you got away, where would you go? But somewhere inside of you, there was a spark that could not be extinguished—a yearning to be free that even he could never suppress.

And so you waited, patiently, for him to trust you enough to let his guard down. And today, at last, the opportunity came. A door carelessly left unlocked. You ran.

You kept running, but he was so quick to discover your escape. His hounds knew your scent well, and it took less than an hour before they were snapping at your heels. Hot tears sting your eyes. How could you fail? If he catches you, he’ll never let his guard down again. You’d rather die than go back there.

“Somebody, help me!” you scream in desperation, not expecting anyone to be around to hear. “Help!”

The only answer is his familiar voice commanding you to stop. He’s only a few meters behind.

_Faster!_ you urge your legs, but your lungs are burning, about to give out. You’ve never been allowed to run before, confined in your small prison, and your atrophied body can’t handle the sudden strain. Fear alone keeps you moving. When a gnarled root trips you, you collapse to the ground, wheezing and panting, limbs shaking helplessly, and cannot rise again.

The dogs circle you, snarling and whining.

You cover your eyes with your wings and cower behind them—about all they’re good for.

“There you are!” the scientist reprimands. “How dare you run from me, after all I’ve done for you! I gave you life, you ungrateful little—” _WHACK!_ His tirade is cut off by the dull thud of a body against wood, accompanied by the crack of ribs breaking. You lift your wings, peeking from under the feathers.

Before you, an enormous creature rises, inhumanly tall and gangling, with long ragged hair. You recognize healed surgical stitches, much like yours, across along the parts of his skin not covered by a tattered cloak. The stranger roars with a ferocity that scatters the dogs in terror, then he picks up your tormentor by the throat and pins him against a tree.

“Frankenstein?!” he demands, voice gravelly and unpracticed.

“W…what?” the scientist gurgles through bloodied teeth.

“You are Victor Frankenstein?” the creature snarls again, face distorted with rage.

The scientist’s eyes roll back in his head, and he faints. The creatures growls in frustration, and drops him unceremoniously to the ground. An instant later, the creature is at your side, expression completely changed to one of the tenderest concern as he helps you to sit up. You wouldn’t have expected such massive, muscular arms to be capable of such gentleness as his are as they cradle you protectively.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“You… you saved me!” you gush. “I can hardly believe it. After all this time… I’m free. You saved me!”

His pale cheeks redden, and he is suddenly flustered, smiling back at you then looking away bashfully. He swallows, and asks, “Are you another of his victims, as I am?”

“I am. But I thought I was the only of his experiments to survive. Who are you?”

He answers in verse:

“Alone, alone, all, all alone,  
Alone on a wide wide sea!  
And never a saint took pity on  
My soul in agony.”

“The Ancient Mariner,” you smile.

“You know it?”

“Of course. My wings are—” Your cheeks flame. You try to tuck the awkward appendages behind you, but with a wingspan as wide as you are tall, they are impossible to hide.

“—Albatross,” he finishes for you. “It is what reminded me of the poem. They are beautiful.”

There’s a look in his eyes you’ve never seen before; a softness. What is it? Admiration? Your wings had been called beautiful before, but the warmth in his voice is nothing like the cold admiration of the scientists who admired the _achievement_ of your wings—whose eyes never met your own, but studied your sutured body as an object on display. Instead, it was as if what he admired was… you?

“I… thank you… but, no. They’re not. They’re horrible. It was horrible! I…” your exhausted body breaks down into sobs. “I didn’t think I would ever get out of there! How did you ever find me? I can’t believe you… you rescued me…” You wrap your arms tightly around your new protector as if to attach yourself to him permanently, terrified of being alone again.

“I have been searching all these parts for my creator. I knew only that he lives in Geneva, but as I am scorned and hated for my ugliness, I cannot ask any assistance in locating him. When I saw you, I knew I had found my enemy, and that I must protect you from that fiend, Frankenstein!”

You almost missed it, through your tears. You almost ignored it when you realized the mistake. But he is your friend now, and you owe him the truth.

“This is Bellevue, not Geneva, and that man you beat just now is named Herbert Gruber.”

He blinks a few times.

He blinks again.

“Really?”

You nod.

He looks at the man on the ground. He looks back at you, and your crooked wings. How many mad scientists _were_ there in Switzerland?!

“This is a terrible country,” he mutters.

“I’m sorry to cause you so much trouble! This isn’t who you were looking for at all. I’m sure that means… you don’t want me following you, but I was hoping that… at least until I find a safe place…”

“Why would I not want you to follow me?” he looks genuinely surprised.

“Well… because I’m not normal. With these wings, all I do is stand out. Don’t you think I’m a freak?”

“No. You are an angel.”


End file.
